


Best of Luck

by willowwand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowwand/pseuds/willowwand
Summary: Hermione wonders whether the happiest day of her life will be ruined by superstition and a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Act 3, Scene 17 of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. "Well, we were only young when we did it the first time and I got very drunk and --well, to be honest, I can't remember much of it..."

“I think you should wear your hair down,” Mrs. Granger said.

“Absolutely not,” Fleur said. “It ees too curly for zat.”

“Your hair always looks very nice when you put it up,” Mrs. Weasley chimed in.

“What do you want to do, Hermione?” Ginny asked, her tone half exasperation, half commiseration. 

“I’ll wear it up,” Hermione decided. “It looks like it might rain, and I’d rather not tempt fate.”

She reached for a bottle of Sleekeazy’s and began to work the potion through her curls. 

“Here, let me help” her mother said, picking up a wide-tooth comb and helping her straighten her hair.

It felt strange to Hermione to have this kind of attention. She remembered how the other Gryffindor girls had helped each other get ready for the Yule Ball years ago. She hadn’t felt close enough to her own classmates to join in. Now she was surrounded by people she loved: her mother, Ron’s mother, and her soon-to-be sisters-in law, Ginny and Fleur, as she prepared to marry the man she loved. A few years ago, she would have never thought this would be possible. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Don’t make me have to cast an Impervious charm,” Ginny warned, with a smile. “Your makeup is flawless. Fleur did a wonderful job.”

Hermione smiled and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Behind her, her robes, cream silk with tiny pearl accents, hung on the wardrobe. It was funny to see the juxtaposition of such an elegant garment hanging in front of Ginny’s old Holyhead Harpies and Weird Sisters posters. 

When Ron proposed, she knew they had to be married at the Burrow. Despite her mother’s cajoling for them to be married in the church where she had been christened, Hermione wanted a magical wedding. She wanted robes instead of a gown. She didn’t want her friends to have to hide their abilities, and most of all, she wanted to be with all the people she loved in the place that felt the most like home. In the days after the war, the Burrow was a haven for her. It was the place where she and Ron cautiously tested their new relationship. It was a place they shared many kisses, many tears. They loved each other long before they declared their feelings, but the Burrow was the place they sealed it.

The day had finally arrived. A marquee had been erected in the garden, flowers had been conjured, and the kitchen was bursting with delicious food. In a little over an hour, she would finally be married to the man she loved. 

Her mother finished brushing out her hair, and began to pull it back into a chignon, sliding in pin after pin to hold her tresses in place.

“There, that’s lovely,” her mother said when she’d finished.

Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I hope Arthur is keeping them on task. They were listening to Quidditch on the wireless when I came upstairs.”

“Yes, my dad finds Quidditch amusing,” Hermione said. “But it’s difficult for him to visualize. Ron wants to take him to a match.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Hermione?” Ginny said. “I can get them good seats.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, fastening fresh flowers into her hair. “You know Ron. He has to do it himself.”

“Hermione!” Ron banged loudly on the door.

She rolled her eyes. “Speak of the devil.”

Her mother and Mrs. Weasley leapt up and stood in front of her.

“Ronald Weasley,” Mrs. Weasley yelled. “Don’t you dare open that door! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“I want to talk to Hermione,” he said through the door and attempted for the second time to force the door open.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said, walking to the door despite their protests. She opened the door and Ron, who had evidently been trying to push on the door with his shoulder, nearly fell over the threshold. He didn’t look like he’d showered yet. His hair was mussed, and he was wearing dirty jeans and a Cannon’s shirt. He also smelled strongly of firewhisky. “Are you drunk, Ron?”

“A li'l bit,” he said, stifling a burp and staggering to his feet.

“I’ll be back,” she said and slipped out the door before anyone could stop her. 

For the first time, Hermione noticed Harry standing further down the landing, his eyes glazed. She cast a withering glare in his direction and he promptly hurried back down the stairs. 

“Come on,” she said, half-pulling Ron up the stairs, which was difficult as he kept trying to embrace her. Finally, she pushed him through his bedroom door and closed the door behind them.

“You look so beautiful,” he said, his arms snaking around her waist. “Is this what you’re going to wear?” 

“This is a bathrobe, Ron. So, no, this isn’t what I’m going to wear,” she said exasperatedly as she pushed him away. She thought she might actually cry now. “I can’t believe you’re drunk. What on Earth were you thinking?”

“Wait, are you angry?” Ron asked, looking concerned. 

“Yes, Ron, I’m angry,” she said, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes. “We have a hundred of our friends and family arriving in an hour’s time. You smell like a distillery. Why would you do this?”

“We were celebrating,” he said. “It’s not every day I get to marry the only woman I’ve ever loved. I’m the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Hermione asked. “Maybe this is rooted in something deeper. We are pretty young, maybe…”

“Hermione, you know there isn’t anything deeper.” He pulled her toward him. “’I love you. I always have. Please say you’ll marry me. I’d be lost without you. You know it’s true.”  
This man. Her biggest weakness. Her greatest strength. Ron was always sincere, especially when it came to her. Though she was still annoyed at him, she could no longer doubt his motives. They were very young, that was true. But it didn’t matter, nor did it matter that she was still working her way up at the Ministry. They had already weathered the worst together. 

“Come here, you fool,” she said. 

She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his. He pulled her in closer, his hands cupping her face reverently as he deepened the kiss. She ignored the taste of whisky on his tongue, focusing instead on the soft pressure of his lips, on his rough stubble scratching her face. He slid his fingers into her hair, laying waste to her chignon. She could never get enough of him, but with the knot of her bathrobe threatening to unravel and the looming arrival of their loved ones, she reluctantly pulled away.

“You’ll marry me then?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, but hurry. You need to shower, shave, and brush your teeth. You taste of firewhisky.” 

Ron smiled beatifically, and Hermione left while it was still within her power. She reluctantly returned to Ginny’s bedroom, where Ginny and Fleur shared a smirk at her disheveled appearance. Her mother wordlessly repinned her hair, replacing the flowers that Ron had damaged in his enthusiasm.

She knew that her mother and Mrs. Weasley didn’t approve of her seeing Ron before the wedding, but Hermione didn’t believe in superstition. She thought she would be nervous in this moment, but if anything, her meeting with Ron had made her even more certain and much more impatient to see him at the altar. Still, she savored these moments, capturing them forever in her mind. The hugs, the tears, the love. This was the foundation on which they would begin their marriage, and because of that, Hermione knew she and Ron would always have the best of luck.


End file.
